NYC Marathon 2007

Whew, am I tired! My legs and back are killing me. Where is that Ben Gay? No, I didn't run the marathon today. Oh heavens no! No, I did something mmmm, almost as physically demanding as running 26.4 miles in shorty shorts and a t-shirt. See, I spent three and a half hours this Sunday morning -- hours that I would normally be sleeping -- on my feet, watching, clapping, and whooping for marathoners. Do you know how exhausting it is to be on your feet for that long, to whoop for hours on end? Let me tell you, it puts an incredible the strain on the lumbars and thoracics. And the metatarsals too. Marathon schmarathon. Those runners had nothing on me today. I'm gonna schedule me a massage this week, I deserve it.

I really gotta tellya though, it was a lot of fun going out there and cheering for the runners. A lot of fun. It was almost worth my rousting my ass out of bed at the ungodly hour of 7:30 a.m. on a Sunday. (A Sunday!) I haven't been up this early on a Sunday for non-sexual purposes in like 20 years. (Thank you daylight savings time.) To my surprise, once I got outside and strolled down Bedford, it was quite the festive scene. I don't know what they do on the other parts of the marathon route, but here on Miles 11 and 12, on Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg -- Williamsburg, BROOKLYN -- we F'N ROCK, man! We have live bands. We have a DJ. We even have loudspeakers playing the musical stylings of Bruce Springsteen (Born to Run), Vangelis (The Chariots of Fire theme song), Player (Baby Come Back), The Dave Matthews Band (Ants Marching), Ray Charles (Hit the Road Jack) and other witty, running-related hits. You just TRY and beat that! I dare you.

When I wasn't taking pictures, which was my real reason for getting up early, I was cheering and clapping for those sweaty, sorry souls who passed by me on the Road to Pain. My loudest whoops were reserved for: (a) attractive women, of which there were quite a few (I wish I didn't hate running so much or I'd join a runner's group. Food for thought: how much do I really hate pounding the pavement with my aforementioned metatarsals? Mightn't it be worth the pain to meet a toned and trimmed lovely? Hmmm? Hmmm?); (b) anyone with an "Italia" jersey on -- I couldn't believe how many Eyetalians I saw. Frenchies too; (c) funny people in costumes. You'll see what I mean in a minute; (d) old people who were sucking serious wind, or who looked dangerously close to achieving a stroke, heart attack, and/or both; and (e) the physically challenged (i.e., the handicapped for you older folks).

Re: my picture-taking, it was quite crowded on Bedford, so I did my best to find spots where the sun wouldn't be in my face (when it was out), and where people wouldn't step in my way. It wasn't easy. The good morning light was gone by 11:30. I also learned that it isn't easy to take pictures of moving people. I discovered that you really need to be prepared and anticipate what's coming if you expect to get a halfway decent shot. I had all kinds of focus problems too, because much of the time I was trying to capture a single moving face in a sea of twenty people. I missed several shots because either the runners went by too fast, or my camera autofocused on the wrong person's head, or the trees in the background, instead of on my intended target. Live and learn; next time I'll use manual.

With that out of the way.... on to the pictures.

The Running Division




Here are Paula Radcliffe of England and Gete Wami of Ethiopia, the two women who, 15.4 miles later, finished 1 and 2. What you don't see, and what I didn't realize until it was upon me, is that just before the race leaders run by, something like 20 cops in cars and on motorcycles fly down the course to push onlookers out of the way. The cycles in particular come really close to the edge of the sidewalk, and I nearly got my beak clipped by one of them before I was able to return to my spot, which is why this pic was a bit rushed.



As you can see, Wami was right on her elbow at this point.




Some seriously tired dudes. Only 15 miles left to go, guys!



The Wheel Division

A little 'Burg graffiti mixed in.



I could really use one of these badboys for my commute to work. It has to be faster than the J/M/Z, and it's definitely less crowded than the L train.



This is one of my favorite pics of the day.




Just TRY and stop me, coppahs!




The Costume Division

How the hell does someone run a friggin' marathon in a costume like this? Damn Wookies.



Or this?



Hey, there's Uncle Sam! Where's the Iraq albatross that should be hanging around his neck?




Cross the Zodiac killer, Ted Kaczynski, Bill Rodgers, and Frosty the Snowman, and you get this guy.



Swedish, happy, and undoubtedly, drunk.




Bugs Bunny? That's so 1975.



And last, but not least, The Spectator Division




This one's going to be shopping at Prada in about 16 years, just you watch.



Hipsters with hankies. These two were surprisingly enthusiastic and animated for hipsters. Kudos, ladies.



Another one of my favorites.

Straight Talk With Councilman James Oddo

You do NOT mess with City Councilman James Oddo. Oh no you don't. That's what an attractive Norwegian comedian learned when she sat down to interview Mr. Oddo for a program called "Rikets Rost." Oddo, a NYC native, who represents Staten Island and certain parts of Brooklyn, let her have it. Watch and be entertained.


Hilarious. As I watched this, I couldn't help but notice certain similarities between Mr. Oddo and myself. We're both Italian, around the same age, make liberal use of F-bombs, and don't suffer fools gladly. We also both think Ann Coulter's an idiot. We even kind of look alike. Our only differences appear to be that he's a Republican, and he threw the pretty lady out of his office when I probably would have, uh... been a little more patient. She had such a nice smile.

I sure like this guy's "straight talk" though. McCain's got nothing on him. In fact, he impressed me so much, I would even consider voting for him based on this YouTube video alone. How's THAT for an educated voter?

9/11 Redux

My day was pretty uneventful until about 6:10 p.m. tonight, when, out of nowhere, I heard this long, dark rumble come from somewhere outside my office, which is located very close to Grand Central. The noise was low, deep, and noticeable. It sounded like an overactive air conditioner or a loud train coming into a station. Then the AC in my office felt like it kicked up a notch, which I thought was strange because normally the building knocks the AC down a level around 6:30 p.m. But I kept working, thinking that maybe they were fixing a generator in the building or something.

A few seconds later, I heard G. -- an attorney who was working on the 65th floor of the South Tower of The World Trade Center when the second plane hit on 9/11 -- proclaim quite loudly from three doors down that there had been an explosion in a nearby building. A bunch of us then walked into a partner's office that faces east, where, through the window, you could see a huge amount of white smoke that appeared to be billowing out of a building right next door to us. The rumbling was noticeably louder on the east side of our office.

Someone surmised that a boiler had blown out. Someone else thought that a fire had started and gotten out of control. G. didn't give a shit what it was. "We need to get out of here, guys. Now." I thought he was kidding, because he loves to joke around, but when I looked at his face, he was dead serious. His eyes showed a combination of fear, borderline panic, and imploring authority. You could tell he was reliving a really bad experience. We all listened, and after rounding some people up, we got the fuck out of there. Before leaving of course, I grabbed my murse, inside of which I threw some work to do this evening. Couldn't leave the murse.

The elevators were working, so we took one to the ground floor. Once we hit bottom and the doors opened, you could hear the fire alarms in the lobby going off and there were masses of people quickly evacuating the building. It was organized confusion. No one was panicking but you could tell people were very jittery and no one really knew where to go. There was no one directing people, which I found a little troubling. Also disturbing was the fact that since there are no stairs down to the ground floor, only a small escalator, we all had to wait in a deep line just to get outside. It's ridiculous to have to wait for a fucking escalator when something like this happens. I also wondered why there had been no fire alarm on my floor, directing us to leave the building.

Once outside, I was shocked at the number of people who were standing on the street, milling around, looking up, and watching the mess unfold. It was wall-to-wall gawkers. Very few people were actually trying to leave the area. I started walking towards Madison Avenue, which was west and away from where the smoke was coming from. Some people were walking away, but i saw more people standing on street corners gawking at the smoke and talking on their cell phones. Police and fire sirens wailed by, and I just kept walking south, towards Union Square, and hopefully, the L Train to Williamsburg. The only time I stopped was for about three seconds, around 41st Street. I looked east and saw a thick haze with a dark brown core of dirty smoke pumping out of the ground and billowing high into the air, past the tops of surrounding buildings.

I tried to call K. on my cell to find out what the hell had happened, whether it was terrorism, a bad boiler, or something else. My phone didn't work, another echo of 9/11, so I sent her a message on my Blackberry, telling her to call me, which she did a few seconds later. She said that reports were saying that a blown manhole cover had caused the explosion; it wasn't terrorism. Good news, though I suspect that there are a lot more manhole covers in New York City than terrorists at the moment. Fortunately, the subway was running at 33rd Street, so I jumped on a downtown 6 train, got on the L at Union Square, and 20 minutes later, walked in my door, sweaty, tired, and relieved.

Pretty screwed up night. Here are some observations I'd like to share regarding this evening's events:

1. This felt eerily like 9/11. From the evacuations, to the people on the streets, to the scenes of billowing smoke. Even moreso now that I'm home, watching some of the street scenes on the news. One of them shows people frantically running down the street, panic covering their faces, as a huge wave of cloudy smoke chases them from behind. It looked just like the scenes of people running away from the WTC as the buildings fell six years ago. We've been through a couple of scares in this city since then, including a serious blackout a few years ago, but this one felt the most like that day to me.

2. People are fucking stupid, even "savvy" New Yorkers. Maybe we're too confident for our own good. Maybe we've gotten complacent. It's going to cost us, eventually. Tonight, I saw way too many people standing around watching this whole thing happen instead of getting out of the way and leaving the scene. As people were watching everything go down, no one had a clue what that gray smoke may have been hiding. There could have been cyanide, ricin, or some radioactive material in that dirty cloud for all they knew. Yet, most people acted like they were watching a Cirque du Soleil show. They just stood around gawking and calling their friends, as they tried to get a better look at all that exciting smoke! It was unbelievable. When -- not if, when -- we get hit with a dirty bomb, or worse, in this city, a lot of people are going to get sick and/or die needlessly because they'd prefer to gratify their curiosity, rather than get out of danger.

Now Bloomberg is saying that there may have been asbestos in the brown soot that everyone found so interesting. Nice.

3. It's every man for himself, baby! During this entire incident, I didn't hear a single announcement from anyone in authority. Not by the people in my law office. Not by the security staff in the building I work in. Not by the cops outside. It was total chaos. It's amazing how little we've learned from 9/11. We are incredibly unprepared and extremely vulnerable in this city. And yet, we have a ginormous target on our back. My advice, if you happen to find yourself in a situation like this: Don't expect to be told what to do or where to go. The initial moments are total confusion, no one will know what the hell is going on. Ultimately, the only counsel you will have to rely on is your own. Use it wisely, Grasshopper.

4. If this was really caused by a faulty steam pipe that was originally installed in 1924, eighty-three years ago, exactly how decrepit IS the infrastructure in my beloved city? I'm guessing that today's culprit isn't the only suicidal steam pipe living under New York's streets. How bad is it down there? First, we hear stories of electrified metal plates that have killed several dogs and even a person, Jodie Lane, in 2004. And every so often, we get an exploding manhole cover. Now this. Hmmmmm. Maybe we should stop invading other countries for a little while and spend some of those billions on our cities, which are falling apart.

5. I'm really happy I live in Brooklyn now. No further explanation required.

Highlights Of A Random June Weekend

Okay, here are my top 5 highlights from this past weekend, a pre-VACATION weekend, no less, as I am leaving for Hawaii this coming Wednesday.

5. Hasidic Women Clad In Pink. A little fact: I live in a part of Brooklyn that borders a Hasidic neighborhood. The Hasids are always dressed in black or, if they're feeling a little crazy, a dark navy blue, coupled with a white shirt or blouse underneath. For some inexplicable reason, tonight, June 17, 2007, I saw several Hasidic women wearing clothes that were colored a bright, happy pink. The strangest thing: on their heads, they wore these wraps that looked suspiciously like the ones the Sikhs wear. It was a very strange sight, to say the least, but a nice twist on their typical drab reality. You have to wonder why they can't wear more optimistic colors on other days of the year. If anyone knows what the deal is about this, shoot me a comment, because the curiosity is driving me crazy.

4. My Mother Telling Me I Need A Girlfriend. This from the woman who, for most of my life, told me to work hard and not worry so much about relationships. And who took no prisoners as she busted the chops of every girlfriend I've ever had. Ah, the memories! Back in the day, she made one of them cry because the poor girl wouldn't leave a house party to do my mom the favor of picking up some milk at the grocery store. Then there was the time Dear Ma kept calling my ex, S., by my ex-ex's name. To this day, she swears it was an accident. I think we both know better. (S. had kind of a squeaky voice, so behind her back my mother called her "Mickey Mouse." Before you start getting all up in Mom's grill, S. turned out to be a colossal liar and cold-hearted biotch, so I'm going to write the whole thing off as her razor-sharp Sixth Sense working overtime.) More recently, there was the time she started picking on H.'s case because of a flower shirt I bought that she didn't like, claiming that H.'s influence caused me to buy it. Poor H. Mom just couldn't face the fact that maybe, just maybe, at age 36 I liked flowers on my shirts, and it didn't make me gay.

Throughout all of this b.s., Mom never got on my ass about having a girlfriend or not having one. In fact, a trained psychologist might conclude that she has, consciously or subconsciously, put up obstacles to drive them away. These days I keep most of my personal shit to myself, so in fairness, this hasn't been an issue since the mid-90s.

Dearest Mother, I'll get a fucking girlfriend (a) when I feel like having one, and (b) when the gods conspire to provide me a suitable companion.

She's just lucky today wasn't Mother's Day. And I'm lucky she doesn't read this blog.

3. Breaking Out The Bicycle For A Sunday Spin. I took the bike today for my first ride of the summer, and I found out how much I missed riding. Would have brought it out sooner but last week I inadvertently let all the air out of the front tire when I was trying to pump it up, and it took me forever -- at least 20 tries -- to figure out how to get the friggin' pump to hook onto the nozzle so I could inflate the tire. (Sometimes I have trouble getting it in.) I finally figured it out yesterday, and an enjoyable spin around the 'Burg was my reward.

2. A Nice Sunset By The Waterfront. A direct correlation to No. 3, I took the bike down by the still-decrepit-but-improving-with-every-developed-patch-of-grass Williamsburg waterfront today to watch the sun set below Manhattan. The combination of the crimson sky, the silhouetted Empire State Building, and the light's reflection off the water was truly beautiful. Then I took a spin down by Schaefer's Landing to get another view (that's where I saw the lavender Hasids). Once they turn the waterfront into parks and bike paths, it's going to be stunning. I just hope I'm living there long enough to enjoy it.

1. Meeting My Best Friend For The First Time. Long story, but it was surreal, scary, wonderful, awkward, funny, and special, all at once. : )

There's A Splasher On The Loose

People, I have some scary news to report. Prepare yourselves. Sit down, if you must. Are you ready? Okay. There's a Splasher on the loose on the streets of New York. Yes, you heard me right. A Splasher. I know, I know, it's terrible news. He (or she) strikes at night, when everyone is asleep. Walking around, armed and dangerous, the Splasher stalks a suitable victim for days, waiting for the right moment, waiting until they're alone, with no one around.

That's when The Splasher strikes. He or she whips out that night's weapon of choice. Maybe it's a can of Pacer White SW 6098, Juneberry SW 6573, or Sapphire SW 6963. Lately, the Splasher has shown a penchant for Gulftream SW 6768, or so we think.

There are countless mysteries about The Splasher that have yet to be resolved. Why is he or she doing this, defacing beautiful street graffiti -- which is art as well, in my opinion -- with big, ugly, chaotic splotches of randomly chosen colors of paint? How did this graffiti war start? What is The Splasher's point? Does he (or she) favor Sherwin-Williams or Benjamin Moore? Why? People, we just don't know.

Here's what we do know. The Splasher's work is fugly and anarchist. (No, I didn't just say The Splasher is the Antichrist, read it slowly). As of late, he (or she) has been leaving a "Manifesto" at each crime scene, which contains an opaque message railing against something or other having to do with street art, capitalism, or whatever the fuck. Honestly, I can't understand what the hell Splasher's message is, maybe you can. Here's a copy of the Manifesto, which you can enlarge:


Wow, that's some real pseudo-intellectual shit there. Who the fuck is Dada and why would he/she/it support the wanton splotching of colorful street art that people actually enjoy looking at? Clearly, The Splasher is a person who really likes him (or her)self and, quite literally, wants to spew his or her narcissism all over the place for the world to see.

Here are some images of Splasher's recent victims, who are now horribly disfigured. WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IMAGES ARE GRAPHIC. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.




Sadly, this story recently hit home because, and this is hard for me to say, The Splasher is now hunting victims in my neighborhood, Williamsburg. Yes, Splasher's operating right here in the 'Burg, defacing street art, some of which I had previously posted on Flickr. Here's one I took of that dear old friend of mine, Uncle Sam:



Look how The Splasher massacred my boy (pic is not mine):



Here's what the bastard (or bitch) did to the painting of the beautiful woman I took a picture of a few weeks ago (first pic is mine; "after" pic is from Curbed):





Pretty disturbing stuff, I know. I hope you didn't eat breakfast before viewing these.

There are numerous other examples of Splasher's sick handiwork in the 'Burg, which have been carefully documented by fellow 'Burger i'm not sayin', i'm just sayin' For more Splasher-related pictures, go here.

New York-centric media also have been covering this story for months. We gotta story on Curbed; we gotta story on Gothamist; we gotta story in the Village Voice; and we even gotta story in the New York Times. Whew Splasher, you are bigtime, my brother! (Or sister).

In this age of terrorism, you will not be surprised to learn that this story of graffiti run amok has just gone national. I woke up this morning to see a story about The Splasher posted on MSNBC, via The Washington Post.

Everyone's wondering, just Who Is The Splasher???? Recent speculation has it that this is just another instance of guerilla marketing gone overboard, that some corporate lackey is being paid a few bucks every week to deface street graffiti, which is not legal property, to get some free "underground" advertising. One company in particular, who I am not going to name here for fear of giving them even more free exposure, is under suspicion, because ad postings mentioning this company have been found near The Splasher's recent defacements, untouched.

Folks, if you haven't noticed, it's getting harder and harder for corporate America to get into your heads. Billboards and neon signs just aren't cutting it anymore. This is why they have to resort to stupid marketing ploys like the ATHF fiasco a few weeks ago in Boston and now, possibly, this absurdity in New York. This is what it takes to get through to you. It's your own fault.

And if The Splasher really is an individual acting alone, a selfish, puerile, Mommy-didn't-hug-me-enough, narcissistic, attention starved, I-used-to-pee-my-bed-and-sometimes-still-do, wannabe artist who can't make it in the real art world, buddy, get some fucking therapy. No one wants to look at your pathetic excuse for a "statement." Enjoy your 15 minutes.

8 Things I Think I'm Thinking About On March 1, 2007

Boy all this work has been cutting into my blog time lately. Enough with the mushy b.s., it's a new month. Time to get back to current events. Here's a quickie in the middle of my workday: 8 things I think I'm thinking about today, March 1, 2007.


1. Dick Cheney would do well to keep his pasty white arse within the borders of the United States. Yes, he's almost as despised here as he is in Afghanistan and Pakistan, but as far as I know, no one here is trying to take him out. Seriously, what in Allah's good name was he doing visiting those two haters a few days ago? Couldn't he have done the same thing with a video conference? No, no, no. Meeting with foreign dignitaries is really not the point. These little jaunts to the world's hellholes by Messrs. Bush, Cheney, and Madame Rice are designed to accomplish two things: (1) Stanch political bleeding on the home front, and (2) Poke a large American finger in the eye of our enemies. "I am all powerful, and I can go wherever I want in the world, including your backyard. I'm right in your face and you can't touch me, fuckers!"

Well, Dickles almost got touched a couple of days ago. Permanently touched. Too bad the Talibananas don't know that you can't kill Dick Cheney. You can only hope to contain him. The man is a vampire. He's Bulletproof. A zombie. The undead. You get the point. He's survived what, four heart attacks? He's not going anywhere and will probably live to 104.

Oh, and I loved this quote. When Dick was asked about the purpose of the suicide attack -- which killed 23 people by the way -- this is what he said:

"They clearly try to find ways to question the authority of the central government. Striking at Bagram with a suicide bomber I suppose is one way to do that."

No shit, really? If they almost got Cheney on short notice, how much time do you think Karzai has left?



2. Britney's bald look is hot. Yes, I know I'm in the minority here. Perhaps even a distinct minority. But her head is so smooth, so sexy without hair. It really brings out her beautiful eyes. I dig it. I really do. I'm biased though. In my life, I've had torrid crushes on other bald women, like Sinead O'Connor (pre-SNL fiasco) and the bald actress in the first Star Trek movie. I can't explain it. You really need the right head shape to pull it off though ladies, so beware before you trot out those clippers!



Jack Nicholson is another story. At the Oscars, he looked like a bloated Daddy Warbucks in too-cool-for-school sunglasses. Like Darth Vader after they removed his helmet in Return of the Jedi and showed his misshapen blue head. Not a good look, Jack. But you're doing it for your art, so you get a pass. (And I know you're reading this blog in between Bacchanalian romps with young wannabe starlets. That's why I am speaking to you directly, in the second person).



3. Pigs are flying and hell is freezing. We are approaching peace with North Korea and (gasp!) we might actually be seen in the same room with leaders from Iran and Syria. Good news, my brothers!

Of course, the moral of this story for all you pipsqueak enemies of the United States is that if you build yourself a nuke or two, we'll make peace with you. No one wants a nuclear fistfight. Is it any wonder why Iran is running full steam towards membership in the Nuclear League of Nations? It ain't no fluke, if you don't got that nuke!

Hey, who's that in the back of the room stompin' and swearin' and gettin' all red in the face? Israel? Hmmm... this story's not over yet. Get your hazmat suits and Cipro ready folks, and strap yourselves in. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.



4. You think your life sucks? Try being Taco Bell for five minutes. First they have a sickening outbreak in some of their restaurants in New Jersey and then NYC inspectors "discover" a nest of rats in one of their restaurants in Greenwich Village. Nice eh? I love rat droppings with my tacos, don't you? If you are stupid enough to still own stock in Yum Brands (owner of Taco Bell, KFC, and Pizza Hut), you may want to consider beating yourself about the head with a KFC chicken wing.

I've probably eaten at a Taco Bell twice in my life (my appetite does not run large for a shit-looking/smelling bean paste in a thin wheat rollup), but you'll never catch me there, or at any of those other places, again. In fact, between E. coli outbreaks, mad cow disease, and that bloated feeling I get after eating red meat, vegetarianism is looking better and better to me every day.



5. I wish Alan Greenspan would shut the fuck up. Isn't this guy supposed to be retired? He's as old as God and he still feels the need to grab his balls and opine on the future of the market whenever someone puts a mic in his face. A few days ago, he did us the dubious favor of proffering his wisdom that the U.S. could be headed for a recession later this year. Based in part upon his negative remarks (and profit taking in an overheated Chinese market), the U.S. market tanked 416 points, the largest drop since after 9/11.

Can't he be quiet, go buy an island somewhere, and keep himself busy playing hide the mango with a few lady friends? Sheesh. If he keeps this shit up, I'm going to be on the street wearing nothing but a barrel, like a poor character in one of those old Bugs Bunny cartoons.



6. This just in -- 74 year-old Italian grandmother, Olga Mauriello of Naples, finds live grenade in groceries. Apparently the device was covered in dirt and she thought it was a spud, a dirty little potato, until she took it home, picked it up, washed it off, and realized she had a live, active grenade in her hands. [INSERT CLICHED ITALIAN EXCLAMATION HERE]. Thankfully, she lived to tell the story, though she has been seriously traumatized by the Spud That Was Not A Spud.

Baaaah! What a baby. My Nonna would have turned that grenade into spicy fries, thrown it on a plate with a T-bone, and served it to us for dinner.


7. In local news, I can't decide where I come down on Pool Aid. You don't know what Pool Aid is? Man, where you have you been? Pool Aid is an organization that has taken a (still) decrepit, though incredibly large, empty pool near McCarren Park in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and turned it into a happenin' site for summertime concerts. I attended a couple of them last summer, and they were actually kind of fun, though the lines got longer as the word got out. Cheap beer, Dodgeball games, slip n' slide, hot dogs, lit doobies here and there, and good old fashioned rock and roll. All the great things you remember from your childhood.

The downside is it that the crowd gets a little grungy during the course of an afternoon. And after a few drinks, some of the hipsters -- the cool but much maligned 18-25 year-old unwashed demographic that pervades the 'Burg -- come perilously close to venturing into 60s hippydom, dancing around, hugging, waving, laughing, smoking. Hippies are most certainly NOT cool. When I start seeing hippies, that's when I pick up my NY Times (what a dork I am, seriously), get on my bike and leave the scene.

Some people don't want the concerts because McCarren Park is located near rapidly rising, yuppie condos, some of which now surround the Park. The concerts go all day on the summer weekends. Not exactly what the Condo People envisioned when they plunked down mucho dinero for granite countertops, Australian Jarrah wood floors, and Subzero refrigerators.

If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, what a hipster is, or why you should give a rabbit's poop about pool concerts in a tiny town in Brooklyn, well have I got a special treat for you! I ran across the video below on Curbed, which will answer ALL of your questions and much much more. It's Pool Aid Hipsters singing "We Are The Pool," playing off the USA for Africa song from two decades ago. Shots of last year's concerts, kids splashing, Williamsburg hipsters dancing, and people just having a good old party time. An aging, sadly deflated Kool-Aid Man even makes a cameo. (Sadly, he's really let himself go. Must have been all that cocaine in the 80s.) Enjoy.






8. One small step against terrorism, one giant leap towards a police state. Time for an update on the legal proceedings of the case involving alleged Al Qaeda operative (and American citizen) Jose Padilla. He's the guy they locked up in a U.S. military brig in South Carolina for a few years without due process for allegedly plotting to build a dirty bomb. His trial is coming up in April and what do you know? It appears that a crucial DVD recording of Padilla being interrogated has mysteriously disappeared. The missing DVD dates from March 2, 2004. It's important because it might show, among other things, that Mr. Padilla was sufficiently traumatized by prior harsh treatment -- which has been said to include extreme isolation, manipulation of the temperature in his cells, loud noises and other techniques designed to break him down -- that any confession or other statements he gave during interrogation could be ruled inadmissible at trial. Guess we'll never know now, will we?

Prosecutors gave no explanation for how and why the DVD went missing after all this time. One would think they would have kept it carefully guarded under lock and key, since it purportedly provided key evidence of Mr. Padilla's guilt. Apparently someone important decided that the bad outweighed the good and the DVD should disappear, so it did.

This guy is getting railroaded so badly, it makes Saddam's trial look fair and clean by comparison. Can't wait to watch the sham on C-SPAN.

And that's 8 things I think I am thinking about today. Good night and good luck.

Death Of Common Sense Award #1

We're installing a new feature here at M-A: The Death of Common Sense Award. This ignominious prize will be given on an irregular basis to the individual, corporate entity, or country that demonstrates a stupidity so remarkable, so egregious, so absurd, that it has me running to my keyboard in the middle of a busy workday to decry the Death of Common Sense.

Unfortunately, common sense is an endangered species in this world and particularly in these United States of America, where every citizen believes that he or she has an inalienable right to sue anybody for any perceived slight, regardless of its triviality. Spilled coffee on your lap? Sue the coffee cup maker! You're morbidly obese but can't stop shoveling fast food down your throat? Sue McDonald's! You have low self esteem? Sue your parents! I love it baby, I'm a lawyer!

The M-A Death of Common Sense Award is intended to cast the bright, shining light of righteousness on foolish assholes who haven't a clue, so that the world can be reminded of how rampant litigation and the imposition of senseless and unnecessary rules and regulations are killing common sense and stripping all of us of the pure, unadulterated joy of living. (Here's another example).

SO, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, THE INAUGURAL M-A DEATH OF COMMON SENSE AWARD GOES TO..... NEW YORK STATE SENATOR CARL KRUGER!!! He of Brooklyn, my district no less. Senator Kruger gets this award because he is about to introduce legislation that would ban New York pedestrians from using iPods, cellphones, and other gadgets while crossing the street. Violators would receive a $100 fine. Why do we need this important legislation, you ask? Well you see, three pedestrians in New York City have been killed since last September after stepping into traffic while distracted by iPods (or similar devices -- I don't know what these people were carrying). Because three people out of 13 million have died at the hands of modern gadgetry, we have a public safety crisis on our hands. We need to act and act now!

TELL IT TO THE PEOPLE SENATOR KRUGER!

“This electronic gadgetry is reaching the point where it’s becoming not only endemic but it’s creating an atmosphere where we have a major public safety crisis at hand.... [W]hat’s happening is when they’re tuning into their iPod or Blackberry or cell phone or video game, they’re walking into speeding buses and moving automobiles. It’s becoming a nationwide problem.”

Thank the sweet Lord Hay-soos that we have incisive political leaders like Senator Kruger who see a major threat to the good citizens of New York and are willing to stand up and take proactive measures to protect us from ourselves. I can't wait to see NYPD officers springing into action to corral and fine the millions of New Yorkers, including myself, who commute to work each and every day while plugged into their own private musical universe. They will be doing all of us a great public service while bringing a fresh influx of cash to the city's depleted coffers. It's not like the NYPD has more important things to do, like catch murderers, rapists, and terrorists.

Senator Kruger, for your courage and proactive quick thinking, you are the recipient of the very first Mind-Ambition Death of Common Sense Award. Even though this legislation doesn't stand a clean sidewalk's chance in New York City of passing, it's the thought that counts, good sir! Along with this award, you will receive an 80GB iPod, a lifetime subscription to iTunes and your very own Blackberry. And a swift, hard kick to the crack of your ass with a steel toe Caterpillar boot. Congratulations!

Now watch me get hit by a truck tomorrow while listening to "Karma Chameleon."

70˚ In January

Now hear this! Now hear this! Heat Miser has taken control of the world and is firmly in charge! Do NOT question his A-THOR-I-TAI! Anyone who complains about the heat will be immediately vaporized! You will be rationed 1 stick of deodorant per three months and 1 gallon of water per week. Anyone who questions the availability of deodorant or water will be vaporized!

Have a nice day and enjoy the great weather!


Editor's Note: It is going to hit 70 in Brooklyn today. 70. In Brooklyn, New York. In January. If you still think there is no such thing as global warming as you ponder the question while driving around in your gas guzzling SUV, sipping your chocamochafrappalatte, please record your ignorant views on a tape recorder or MP3 player and bury the tape in your backyard or a local park with an easily seen marker. Please make sure that the marker is at least 8 feet tall so that in the year 2600, when the Earth is a vast desert and looks just like Mars, it won't be covered by sand dunes when the aliens come looking for it. They're going to want that tape as further evidence of why human beings were so stupid and ignorant that they killed themselves off by always, always putting their own individual needs and wants first.

Second Editor's Note: The above assumes of course that we don't obliterate ourselves in a nuclear war first, which would have the same effect. I'm putting my money on a nuclear war. Definitely.